


Backstage Pass

by KipRussel



Category: Alan Wake (Video Game), Control (Video Game)
Genre: (and we love her for it), 70s rock and roll karaoke, Agent Estevez makes a brief appearance, Bright Falls Circa 202x, Gen, Hartman gets mentioned all my homies hate Hartman, I did use some of the mythical Freya as a framework, I had to invent Freya's character mostly, Jesse Faden: known dork, Polaris is here but more just mentioned, also i mention pat maine having passed away im sorry :(, fbc agents just openly talking about stuff in public don't worry about it, first Director Faden has to live some concert dreams, homesteading in a rock n roll type of way, it's almost time for the FBC to return to Bright Falls (but not yet), more than meets the eye (per usual), old men cant text, rated teen cause there's swear words, thas all, this is SO CHEESY and i apologize for NOTHING AT ALL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29817483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KipRussel/pseuds/KipRussel
Summary: The lockdown on the Oldest House is lifted, but there's still plenty of work to do-- including checking in on Bright Falls, WA. No sign of anything yet-- they're a few years too early, according to the mysterious alert sent to the Bureau. But there's no harm in checking in anyway. Besides, the Anderson's farm is still here, and their stage still set up... a bit of a dream come true for an Old God's fan like Jesse.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21





	Backstage Pass

**Author's Note:**

> (welcome back to "kip got a wild hair of an idea and had to write it regardless of sense or quality! aksjdfhsf I hope you enjoy <3)

Bright Falls is the perfect getaway for Jesse to escape work and clear her mind.

Granted, it’s still a work trip. But it’s low stakes— a cursory check in, after the mess of the lockdown, and after the strange alert the Bureau received for those years in the future. There was some surprise, when she asked to tag along with the field agent flying out there. But once she explained she wanted a first hand look at ground zero of the Bright Falls AWEs, everyone nodded and wished her a happy trip. 

She got to know the other agent on the ferry ride into town, then spent the ride in the rental car in a comfortable silence, staring out the window, trying to take in everything she can about the place.

It’s so very different from home. From Ordinary. But in a way, it reminds her of home. The towering pines, the scattered redwoods. The overcast skies, that air that has a bit of spark in it; that undecided energy that travels on the wind. She wonders if there’s any paranatural note to that. If places with higher activity levels all had that “spark”. She’s sure Emily would know.

They arrive, finally, at Cauldron Lake Lodge. Agent Estevez is waiting in the parking lot for them, and waves them down as they pull in. The two hop out and all give the standard introductions, before the field agent pops the trunk to get to their bags.

“Can’t help but feel like we’re in an episode of Star Trek or something,” he quips, moving around to the back and hoisting the trunk open.

Jesse turns to squint at the field agent in confusion as he lifts his suitcase from the back of the car.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Agent Estevez laughs, grabbing Jesse’s duffle bag before she can get to it. “I got it, boss,” she nods. Jesse looks mock offended, but lets her take it and shuts the back of the car once they’re clear.

“Just not used to being in the field with the big names. You know, how the Captain would always go down on the away missions and stuff?” the other says, shrugging at Jesse.

“Doesn’t that make you a red shirt?” Estevez quips back. The other agent sputters, pulling his ball cap down tighter over his head.

“I— well— they changed who wore red shirts anyway,” he mumbles, and Estevez laughs harder, lugging their suitcases off to the lodge. “I don’t mean any disrespect, uh—”

“Just Jesse is fine,” she interjects with a hand wave.

“Alright. I will say, it’s pretty nice not really feeling the… the pressure of having the Big Boss here. Not that you’re not, I just mean… it’s casual. In a work way.”

“It is nice to… get out of the House,” Jesse adds, and the agent nods back to her in agreement. “And finally get to see the Lodge.”

Estevez sets the duffle down on the front steps and spreads her arms wide, as if to present the building to the other two.

“Here she is! A three-and-a-half star hotel, much to the disappointment of the owner. And definitely no _shady_ past to this place whatsoever,” she winks, then lowers her voice. “In reality, it really is a nice place. We own the property, and the owner rents it out for a really tidy price. It draws in a nice tourism crowd, but not too many people. We monitor things, to make sure there’s no… repeats of past events. And we keep the urban legends on the down low. The last thing we need is ghost hunting television crews and… YouTubers.”

“Wasn’t it a hotel originally?” the other agent asks. “Before…?”

“Mmhmm. And now it is again. Mostly for people looking for quiet retreats that _aren’t_ busy vacation towns. Off-the-map type getaways. And we do our part to keep it that way.”

“You mean I _can’t_ buy a kitschy Cauldron Lake keepsake here?” Jesse smirks, scooping her duffle back up before Estevez can protest.

“No ma’am,” she shakes her head. “The best you’ll find is leftover Deerfest magnets in one of the gas stations up the road. Though you _can_ get a stunning view of the lake.” She sets off up the stairs, veering down a paved side path, the others trailing behind her with their bags. She bounds up a few steps, Jesse close behind, other agent hoisting his bag over his shoulder more securely. They crest out onto an overlook, and neither of them can keep from gasping a silent _wow_.

A large, golden sundial sits at the center of the overlook, catching the rare Washington noon-day sun. Beyond it stretches vast forests and peaks, dotted with snow at the higher points, vanishing into the wisping clouds. The sparkling, deep, dark green lake churns quietly in the wind.

Jesse notes that it is, indeed, bare of any islands, rocks, or even boats out on the water.

Estevez guides the other agent to the edge, pointing out Mirror Peak, explaining how the lake is considered protected, and how only approved persons can go out on it, and how they’ve had to stop the odd hunter and fisher and drunk daredevil from going too far out on it. Jesse idles back, walking around the breadth of the sundial.

Polaris flecks in her vision, like light catching off of water. Jesse follows her to a plaque at the front of the sundial, bending down to read it. As she gets closer, she realizes it’s blank— simply a faux-gold metal plate bolted into the side.

_Maybe they had plans to put an engraving here?_

Polaris churns. Jesse can’t parse what’s wrong.

 _Am I missing something?_ she mentally asks her friend, rising back to full height, scanning the sundial again.

“What does _In Tenebras Cadere_ mean?” Jesse calls, interrupting Estevez’s tour guide spiel.

“It’s Latin for ‘To Fall Into Darkness’,” Estevez calls back. Jesse raises an eyebrow. “My thoughts exactly. But we’ve looked into it. Can’t find anything about who made it or why they chose that phrase.”

“What about the empty plaque on the front?” Jesse asks. Estevez tilts her head, walking over to see what she means. Jesse points at it, backing up to give the agent room.

“Huh. I never noticed that. It’s not in any of our data, so I assume it’s always been like that.”

“Hmm,” Jesse muses. _Am I missing something?_

Polaris twists, unsure of herself.

“So, we need to check in at the front, or…?” the other agent wanders back, letting his bag fall from his shoulder and dangle toward his feet.

“Ah, right, my bad,” Estevez smacks her forehead. “I got kinda carried away with the tour. Not everyday you get a visit from the Director, you know? I got both keys right here,” she digs into her vest pocket and produces two metal keys with small carved pine cones on the keyrings.

“Does it matter which?” he points between the two in her palm.

“Nah. Rooms are pretty identical,” she smiles. He gestures toward Jesse, who picks one out at random. “Once you guys are unpacked, we can get started if you want. Chief Breaker is interested in seeing us— I’m assuming you already know about her father’s connection to the Bureau. Freya Anderson is also a person of interest— in a purely informational way, I mean. You might wanna take that one, Director. The farm’s been a pretty big hot spot in terms of AWEs.”

Jesse can’t help but feel a childish spark of glee at the thought of visiting the old homestead of the _Old Gods of Asgard._ Purely in a work sense, surely. Just for investigative purposes. That’s all. Right?

Polaris shimmers in excitement.

“I think I will, then,” Jesse smiles.

* * *

Jesse isn’t sure if it's nerves, nostalgia, or some awful cocktail of the two, but she finds herself bringing the SUV to a stop on the edge of the property. She can’t even see the house yet— and it feels silly, really, getting herself in a nervous tizzy over an old band that isn’t even _here_ , when she’s supposed to be conducting a professional check up on the place. And yet...

Something about this place feels like a _very_ big deal. Maybe it’s just Bright Falls. Maybe it's the pull of Polaris, of trying to parse her meaning and message. Maybe it is just the connection to _Old Gods_. 

Maybe she’s still shaking off the ordeal with Hartman all this time later. Maybe seeing the Lodge got to her more than she thought.

Regardless, she feels that energy in the air again. It’s neither good nor bad. It just makes her restless, so she plunges forward into it, and takes the final few rounds toward the farm.

The corn fields are still growing, thanks to Freya Anderson overseeing the property. The Bureau papers Jesse thumbs through for the fifth time that day also mention that local law enforcement seems convinced she’s continued the Anderson brother’s Moonshine business, though they’ve not been able to document any damning evidence.

Jesse kicks herself for not asking about what Freya is like— whether she cares about the _Old Gods_ or if she doesn’t want them brought up at all. She pictures a 40-something woman, trying to live a quiet life and leave her family’s crazy past behind. The last thing Jesse wants to do is overstep. But she’ll just have to play it safe when she gets there.

The out of place, but still strangely fitting, Nordic house stands out in the fields of the small valley. It would draw all the attention, as well, if not for the gigantic stage 100 feet away, slumbering metal dragon draped atop it.

Jesse’s eyes light up as soon as she whips the rental car around the corner, bringing it, in all its glory, into view. She’d laughed in amazement and something akin to respect when she first read the reports that mentioned the stage, but she never figured it would still be standing.

She pulls up to the front of the house, tires crunching across dirt and gravel. She fishes her backpack out of the front seat, checking the porch. There are no lights on inside, and a cursory scan of the fields from outside the car turns up nothing. She tries knocking on the front anyway, just to be polite. She almost laughs at herself, acting sheepish as she raps on the wooden door, as if she’s a little kid again, asking an adult if someone can come out and play.

Nobody answers, though.

_What do you think? Where do we look for Freya Anderson?_

Polaris glints in the edge of her vision, pulling her around toward the side of the house. Jesse shuffles through the grass and gravel, following her around.

Down at the base of the house, in the shady edge, Polaris spins around a hatch in the ground.

 _Is… she down there?_ Jesse wonders, knowing full well Polaris can’t give her a clear answer. She does keep insisting on pushing forward, though, so Jesse knocks again, albeit a bit more awkwardly.

No answer.

_You want me to go in?_

Polaris spins an affirmative.

Jesse bends down and gives the doors a tug, and they both pull forward with ease, letting the sunlight spill down a set of stairs, cool air rushing out, brushing her hair past her face.

“Hello?” she calls down the set of steps. The wind whistles back at her. “Freya? Ms. Anderson?” Polaris fluctuates at the bottom of the steps.

 _Alright,_ Jesse thinks with a deep breath and a sigh, plunging down into the basement. She can’t help but feel like this qualifies as breaking and entering.

It takes a few moments of squinting and blinking, but her eyes adjust to the darkness. The air down here is even colder than above ground, and Jesse catches herself wondering if basements are a normal addition to homes in Washington. There are rows of dusty old shelves down here, mostly scattered with cobwebbed boxes, rusted tools, and bottles.

Rows and rows of labelled bottles.

 _Well. Found the Moonshine stash, I guess._ Jesse nudges one of the bottles, looking for a name on the label. It’s simply dated— this one says 2016— and is labelled as ‘Witch Free’. _You really want me down here? Kinda feels like I’m… intruding. Not that I’ve... not done that before._

Polaris spins gently, guiding her once again, pulling her deeper into the basement, to a crate pushed up against the wall, hovering above it. The lid is pushed off the top, and Jesse can see damp, old hay poking out. Nestled just within view are a few rows of mason jars. Polaris spins around them again.

 _Yeah, I see it. What is it?_ Jesse pushes the lid off a bit more, balancing it just on the edge. Each jar is sealed tight, filled with murky brown liquid. Polaris shimmers excitedly.

_Are you telling me to take one of these?_

An affirmative.

 _A great first impression on the Andersons, I’m sure,_ Jesse snarks, slinging her backpack off her shoulder. She tugs the flannel around her waist off, nesting one of the mason jars in it before wrapping it up tight. _Whatever that is, I don’t want it breaking in my bag. I wish you could tell me. Wait. Is it Moonshine? You… don’t want me to drink this, right?_

Polaris flares, an instant defensive warning at the suggestion. Danger, danger, don’t. Jesse claps a hand over her mouth to keep herself from snickering.

 _I won’t! I don’t want to drink it either. I’m not really sure I even want to take it, but I’ll do it._ She sets it gently in her bag, then slings it back over her shoulder.

“Hello?” she calls one more time, and her voice echoes back to her. _Back out we go_.

She carefully shuts the doors behind her, making sure they don’t slam— just in case. Part of her is paranoid that Freya will come around the corner and demand to know what she’s doing, but there’s still no signs of anyone anywhere. It’s all still mountain air and birdsong.

The sudden explosion of sound ripping through the air makes her jump. Her hands instinctively fly to the Service Weapon tucked flat in her waistband, eyes flitting across the horizon, looking for the threat. It takes a second for her to realize there’s no threat, and another to recognize the sound.

“No. Way.”

Jesse sprints back around to the front of the house, sliding to a halt as her eyes land on the stage. _Children of the Elder God_ blasts out of the rows of speakers, echoing across the mountain valley like the world’s largest arena. In the middle of the stage, she can make out a lone figure. Jesse laughs again.

“There is _no way._ ” 

Part of her wants to stand in awe, ears ringing with the sound, here in the front of the house. The other part of her is buzzing with unspent adrenaline, yelling _rush the stage, rush the stage, rush the stage._

_Rush the stage in the middle of a farm with only one person on it playing pre-recorded songs from the 1970s!_

Jesse laughs and runs forward. She can make out Freya more as she gets closer. She’s in the world’s muddiest pair of bootcut jeans, with a well worn Old Gods black hoodie covered in tour dates. Her hair is a paling honey color, like it hasn’t quite made up its mind if it wants to grey yet, pulled into a braid that’s slowly unravelling. She looks gracefully old, like someone who’s living and loving life, and she’s gripping a corded microphone in one hand.

She spots Jesse as she gets closer, and bends over laughing, the song drowning her out. She wipes her eyes and says something, then laughs again, and holds the microphone up.

“I didn’t see your car!” she calls over the speakers and raging guitar.

“ _Love_ the song choice!” Jesse yells, running up to the edge of the stage.

Freya mouths a ' _what?'_

“I love this song!” Jesse cups her hands around her mouth. Freya takes a knee at the edge of the stage, and holds out a hand to Jesse.

“C’mon, then!”

“I couldn’t—”

“Can’t talk to me over the song. Might as well play it out! Get up and perform, rockstar” Freya beams, offering her hand again.

Jesse grins back and takes it, pulling herself up onto the stage, just as the next section starts. Freya has a voice worthy of her father’s talent. Jesse nearly feels drowned out in the sound, but she shouts the lyrics along anyway. Any feeling of awkwardness is long gone, dissolved in the sound and the thrill. Her cheeks hurt from smiling and her ears ring with every power chord blasting out of the sound system. She can’t help but feel like she’s known Freya all her life, like she’s been waiting all her life for this moment, like she’s almost in a dream.

By the time the song finally ends, still echoing in her ears and lungs and bones and across the no-longer-still valley, she’s red in the face, bent over with her hands on her knees, laughing breathlessly.

“I… have to say,” she laughs. “That is _not_ how I was expecting to meet you.”

“So you _are_ that government agent, and not some poor tourist looking for directions,” Freya smiles. “We’ve had an informal meeting, so here’s your formal one. Freya Anderson. It’s very nice to meet you.” She shakes Jesse’s hand with her free one, then winds the microphone cord up into her other.

“Jesse Faden. I… don’t know if I can say anything to beat what just happened,” she says in disbelief. Freya lets out a _ha!_ as she kicks open a foam filled crate and nestles the microphone back in.

“Well, you could say it runs in the family. Or you could say my dad and uncle left me a perfect concert stage set up where the sound won’t bother anyone and I can burn off steam after a long day of work.” She shuffles back over to Jesse, tucking her hands into her hoodie pocket. “Not bad stress relief for a 60 year old.”

 _Sixty?_ Jesse thinks in awe. _God, she’s cool._

“I probably gave you the craziest welcome you’ve had in your life, huh?” Freya laughs and ducks her head. “Something to break up that government monotony.”

“Coolest welcome, maybe. Not the craziest though.”

“Well, you’ve got a fun story for your coworkers now at least. C’mon,” she says, easing herself down the steps. “Let’s take a walk, and you can ask me whatever you need to.

* * *

Two farm cats weave in and out of their legs as they walk through the property. The black one lags close to Jesse, while the grey runs forward ahead of them, always appearing at their next stop. Freya shows her the house, the fields, the old barn full of memorabilia. She talks about her dad and uncle’s commitment to the act— how her name really is Freya, how they really wanted the house built like this, how they had the beat-up and splintered viking ship hanging in the rafters custom made. They slow to a final stop in front of the newest building, still under construction. The grey cat clambers up the metal pens connected to it, balancing precariously on edge.

“This is all my doing, not dad’s. I’m going to raise pigs here. We produce way more corn than we can sell, really, and it’s nice to have more animals on the farm. Though if there had been a pig pen here when they were here, I’m sure they would’ve ended up in it,” she laughs.

“Partied pretty hard?”

“The rock n’ roll life. They were always up to something wild. That’s why I had Frank come check on them, back in the 70s. That’s why you’re here, right?” She glances over at Jesse, bending down to pet the black cat.

“Just wanted to make sure we didn’t miss any important details,” she says, shifting her backpack to a more comfortable position, trying to ignore the extra weight inside it. The questioning part of the job was never really her speed, but Freya somehow feels more like an old friend than an interviewee.

“Well, I don’t think there’s much new I can tell you. I wasn’t here, at the time. I had just left for college in Seattle. I knew Deerfest was happening, and Dad and Uncle Odin always partied hard around then. I didn’t start to worry until I got news of the flooding from Pat Maine, rest his soul. That’s when Frank went to check on them. Found ‘em naked and delirious and Uncle missing an eye.”

“Are floods common here? Or was that... unusual?” Jesse asks, rolling her shoulder.

“ _Very_. It was a freak experience, that Deerfest. I figure that, on top of the moonshine and God knows what else, is why they did what they did and said what they said.”

“You didn’t believe their story?”

“They always had stories,” Freya shrugs. “In the ‘BS to make everyone laugh’ kind of way. The one that got away type of thing. I figured they just needed a way to explain whatever bad trip they went on. I never thought it’d land them in that bastard of a man’s Lodge.” Freya spits it with such vitriol it catches Jesse off guard.

“Do you mean Dr. Emil Hartman?”

“Doctor my a— I’m sorry,” she slows, taking a deep breath. “I don’t mean to yell at you,” she smiles again, holding a hand up.

“I don’t think you are,” Jesse assures her. “I… heard he was pretty awful,” she says, still able to feel the ghosting clutch of the stretched monster in the dark, still hearing the distant clink of bone on cement, muttered and distorted Hiss chant ghosting through the air.

“I never wanted Dad in that Lodge. I never wanted Uncle there. I don’t know how they got placed, but I could never get through to Hartman. I’d moved out of state by then, and any attempt I made to get them out, the bastard blocked. I got so frustrated I packed up everything to come out here and tear him a new one myself, but by the time I got here… Deerfest again, now that I think of it. Dad and Odin had broken out, of all things. And Hartman was missing. I hope he drowned.” She says it with such a neutral, matter-of-fact tone, scuffing her boot against the low metal bars of the fence, knocking the dry mud off.

Jesse nods slowly, looking back out over the farm, taking it in again. The now quiet stage still looms in the distance.

“And then,” Freya shakes her head, laughing. “They went on tour again. They were always a bit… touched, after whatever Hartman did, or maybe after whatever happened back in ‘76. I’m still not convinced, but… Dad sure was. Whether it was just their life or there was some truth to the trauma of whatever happened… I don’t know,” she sighs.

Jesse can’t help but sympathize. It’s sweet, seeing Freya still talk fondly of her family, to still support them, even if she’s not sure if she believes them. She doesn’t laugh at them, or write them off. The two experienced two AWEs, if not more. She’s not sure whether she envies Freya, or feels bad that she doesn’t know more.

“They left the stage up, and I left it because it's a good memory. And it is pretty fun to get up there and perform. My own private karaoke farm," Freya laughs. "Did you ever get to see them live?” She joins Jesse at her side. The grey cat leaps up on the fence between them. Jesse’s mind wanders back to the Ashtray Maze.

“Not technically, but... I think I got pretty close. Though today was probably closer,” she ducks her head, smiling.

“Well, even though I can’t give you anything new about what happened here, I’m glad I could give you that.” She pulls her hands out of her pockets and lets her palms fall down at her thighs. “Do you need anything else, while you’re here?” Jesse thinks it all over for a moment.

“I think that does it,” she says. “Not a whole lot more I can ask. Especially not after an impromptu concert.”

“Lemme walk you back out to your car, then.”

* * *

The farm disappears in the rear view mirror along with the sun as Jesse starts the drive back to the Lodge. She still catches herself grinning uncontrollably, ears still ringing even hours later. She can’t help but think of what Freya said— how the Old Gods went on a return tour in 2014. She remembers that. She used to stand in music stores to listen to the demo. She _might’ve_ stolen a CD and left another she had found as payment. 

She realizes, now, in fact, that _Balance Slays The Demon_ gave her one of her favorite lines. _Beyond the shadow you settled for, there is a miracle illuminated._ It stuck with her, resonated with her, the first time she heard that line. It’s what made her look up Zane’s poem— or— maybe it wasn’t Zane’s poem. He’s a filmmaker, she keeps forgetting. She double checked, triple, even, after leaving the Bureau when the lockdown lifted. She must’ve just internalized the line from the song.

Still. She can’t help but feel it still rings so true.

The sun dips behind the mountain peaks, and the sign marking the Anderson Farm vanishes on the horizon as she winds down the road.

* * *

Freya watches Jesse pull away from the house, waving to her as she heads back into town. The farm cats rub against her legs, watching the car with a cautious curiosity. She waits until the car disappears from view, before tugging her phone out of her back pocket. She finds the one-sided text conversation with Tor, and sends him a text. 

_You were right, I did like her. It all went well._

She’s barely sent the message when her phone starts to ring.

“You really are never going to learn to text, are you?” she laughs as she answers, putting it on speaker. Odin and Tor both begin yelling over each other, and she lets them go at it, moving around the house and down into the cellar.

“You really think we want to text? Voice is the way to go!” Tor complains.

“Your fingers don’t work, old man, that’s all,” Odin shouts back, “Told you you’d like the girl! Are we ever wrong? Did you give her the stuff, like we asked?”

“ _Not_ give it to her!” Tor shouts.

“I didn’t give her the moonshine,” Freya laughs, shuffling down the cellar steps. “But she took it. We’re missing one of the old batch with the lake water in it.”

“ _GOOD_ deal!” her dad yells, and she has to hold the phone at arm’s length away. “Still think you should’ve left the recipe be.”

“I am not making moonshine with Cauldron Lake water. You both already know what happens when—”

“That’s what makes it so good,” Odin hoots. “What about the song? She sing the song?”

“That was a bit of a happy accident, but yeah, she did,” Freya clambers back out of the cellar, shutting it and locking it. “I was checking the sound when she got here. I didn’t expect her to be here so soon.”

“Our friend said she’s a timely one,” Odin ponders.

“Dresses better than old elbow patches,” Tor wheezes.

“You really think she’ll be fine without any instructions?” Freya asks, crossing her arms over her chest, watching as the night settles over Bright Falls.

“Eh, she doesn’t need instructions,” Tor huffs. “Third time’s the charm, with the song. And she’ll know what to do with the moonshine soon enough. That lake water is never still for long.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me what the plan is with the Andersons-- this was meant just to be a chance for Jesse to have a karaoke moment alone on the stage, when the thought just struck me, how meaningful it could be, considering the Anderson's connection to both games, their lake water moonshine, and the lyrics of the songs, and how Ahti seems to know them-- and I couldn't leave it be. Had to sneak some sort of curious more-than-meets-the-eye plan into there. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! I do love exploring the hypotheticals~ (and I hope I wrote Jesse right, she's so daunting to write sometimes aksjdfhkshf)


End file.
